


Lessons taught cold

by gayble



Category: Original Work
Genre: High School, M/M, Original Character(s), Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-03-02 19:09:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13324623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayble/pseuds/gayble
Summary: Michael is an 18 year old boy whose demeanor makes people treat him like a kid. He, due to heartbreaking  past, crusty exterior, and a modicum of depression, feels no better way than hiding his problems through laughter, jokes, and energetic activities like football; mocking people in troublesome ways.At some point of his High School life, he has come across a teacher whose reputation is due to the amount of students he has frightened.Mike, being the witty and imprudent boy he is, decides to take the teacher's austerity as a challenge. After all, weeks of detentions and sincere services and house visits on teachers' residents meant nothing compared to dealing with his sensitively problems, right?





	1. First impressions matter, Coffee Boy

I woke up and rolled over to yet another sound of my fifth blaring alarm.

 It was about 7:20 in the morning, says my phone.

_"Good Morning!" says a text._

I crunched back and wrapped myself with tight and thick bedsheets that protected myself from hyperventilating, closed my eyes just to hold back the last picture that I can remember of my dream. 

I was in a new school, I tried recalling.

There were unfamiliar authorial faces who tried mocking every inch of me.

My face,

My body,

My irresponsible demeanour with grades.

My efforts at endeavouring a football career.

Everything.

"OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MICHAEL L SEYMOUR GET UP. SCHOOL HAS ALREADY STARTED!"

I untangled the white sheets out of my body with an incredulous behaviour; as if a bolt of lightning has shot me right into my head and has spread up to my spine. My mom, however will never take this as an excuse to be lenient on me

With the lightning still corsing through my veins, I took a stedfast shower, got dressed with a hoodie and sweats, and met my mom downstairs.

"Good Morning, Mother Dearest" I greeted with my usual mocking tone as I hopped into the car.

"You're late, Michael" she said while driving; her hair tangled into curls and knots. 

I cringed as she said the name "Michael" I often go by Mike, and Mike only. Mama Dearest likes using my full name when she's either upset, stressed, or demented. 

As if I needed more signs —  judging by how her curls intertwines with knots, her solemn eyes deep and tired, her forehead marked with deep parallel lines, she was all three. 

Don't get me wrong, I love my mom. She is probably, set aside the heart-breaking emotions, the only person who has the time, effort, and love to take care of me. Probably the only person who I  'sometimes' listen to, too.

"Have you eaten breakfast?" Her tone changed from austere to sweet and caring.

That's what I love most about my mom. No matter how stressed out and panicky she all gets, she has her priorities right.

Before I can even reply, she passed a cup of coffee to me, bitter but with extra sugary-cream on top; just the way I like it.

"Thanks"

The rest of the car ride was fast and silent, since the time around 7:30 is usually when people regain their thoughts for the morning that lies ahead. My mom caught me staring at the evergreens mixed with colourful dandelions.

"Scared for your first day, honey?"

 _No_ is what I wanted to say. _I'm living the reality version of my dreams_  is what I don't say.  

 _"I've done this a thousand of times, mom"_ is what I say

"Great! So I don't need to go on about the lecture on how you need to behave yourself and all that, right?"

"Yep"

"But just to be on the safe side" she repeated on what she has conjured a dozens of times, "Do you have your notebooks?"

"Yep"

"Your writing materials?"

"Absolutely"

"your phone?"

"Unquestionably"

"Your class schedule?"

"Undoubtedly"

"Okay. How about — "

"MOM" I said, exasperated."Don't worry I'll be fine. Just park by the car straight ahead"

 

With the rushed exchange 'good byes' and 'take cares' and 'I love yous', I set off to the crowded marbled hallways, with the cup of coffee in one hand and the class schedule given to me from the day before, of my up-do-dated school. Fluorescent lights produced and made the marble tiles shinier and spotless. 

Then, I realised that first period must have had already ended due to the number of people exiting doors and diving into the sea of crowds in the current hallway.

 _Shit_ I panicked.

_Where the fuck is room 102?_

I scanned the hallways for room 102 or some number at least, relatively close. Eventually, I got the idea that I must have been roaming around the school, ascending and descending stairs, looking like an idiot for about two hours

 When turning around the corner of the building, I was caught off guard by a compacted statue-like monument. My head spinning and trying to recoil what has happened. And why the hell does this complicated school have a life size statue that would easily give students bruises due to the impact of collision.

"What the _hell?_ "

It was then did I realised that I hadn't bumped into any statue. The hard and compacted figure was someone with a muscular built, someone who obviously takes care of himself by going to the gym daily.

Someone whom I didn't want to mess with.

He was wearing an oxford blue scarf, a colour that matches his eyes. Boots were ankle high and heeled, though, it looked comfortable. The suit, however, tucks in the oxford scarf made with colours of splashes of browns to white.

_Browns to white? He looked like the colour scheme of a cow_

Then, to my horror, with the empty cup of joe now on the floor, clashing into this macho person made my espresso spill onto him, his button down materialised clothes.

"Why don't you watch where your going?" he said with a voice that could frighten almost all the lions in a zoo

"I'm sorry, I'm new and I didn't see you" Then, thinking that apologising wasn't enough,I added "Do you want me to get you a tissue, or a towel?" 

To my great miscalculations, he started laughing. Not the laughing like _oh, that joke was so funny!_ kind of way, but that _Oh_ ,  _I can't believe this is happening_ laugh.

"Do you know who I am, Coffee Boy?" he said domestically while rolling up his sleeves up to his elbows and taking his suit jacket off

"What? Coffee b— ?"

"Why aren't you clever enough to _at_   _least_ watch where your going?"

"I said I was sorry. I'm new and I don't really know where are my classes are at"

"You're _new_? All the more reason to pay attention to your surroundings"

He said those words with much audacity that before I can even speak up to defend myself, he bumped my shoulder with his, impact was as hard as the collision a few minutes ago, and walk briskly for his next class.

I scoffed. Whoever this guy was, he was some spoiled rich classy brat who freaks out at a blot of coffee when there are other severer problems in this world.

"How did you do that?" I heard a girlish kind of voice asked coming after me.

"Do what?" I asked

"You just — Do you know _who_ that is?" she stammered, asking incredulously

"Probably some presumptuous kid with loaded parents who pay him to go to school"

Her fingers dive into the sea of blond that surrounds her face. She had freckles that look like dots and are shades darker than her skin colour. Then, at this moment I knew that with how short her skirt was, with how her white sneakers seem to have carried her light-weighted body, her tank top illustrating the symbols of the school's initials, that she most definitely, was a cheerleader.

"Well, you'll find out soon enough," She replied and then added, "My name is Emily, by the way"

"Emily," I started. "What will I find soon enough?"

"Well, you ought find out that when a girl introduces her name to you, you ought to reply back with the same information."

"What? I — Oh — You mean — Oh" I stuttered stupidly. 

"My name's Mike"

"Nice to meet you, Mike" she said, and smiled that made her eyes form two rainbows as if she's oppressing a laugh.   

"Let me see your schedule"  

Before I can avenge my schedule from the ground along with the cup of coffee, Emily took the opportunity of my bewilderment to pick up the piece of paper that was a little drenched and watered from the spilled and now puddling coffee, and read out my schedule.

"Let's see, double Trigonometry in the morning, _yikes_!" she showed me what seemed to be her pain-like emotional face. "At least you'll be in a spacious room of 102, easy enough to sleep without the teacher looking."

She had me at the number of 102. "You know where 102 is?"

"Yes, It's in the second floor, to the right hallway. Not too far from here"

"Well, that solves all my problems."

She laughed. Rainbows once again forming but fleetingly because she read my third and fourth double period subject.

"You have Creative Writing?"

"Yeah, I like writ — "

"Wow, you have no idea, do you?" her eyebrows reached almost as the middle of her forehead under what seems to be liked lines marked on it. _Was she, just like my mom, concerned? stressed?_

"Is there a problem with Creative Writing?" I asked, getting irritated for the equivocal answers I've been getting from her.

"Nothing. Well, you will — really just like the teacher, that's all" 

"Who is he?" I asked

"A freelance writer on big writing companies. And rumour has it," she hesitated before telling me, "that the school paid a tremendous amount of money just for him to teach."

"Good for him" I expressed with a little jealousy and a little admiration.

"Yes, well often people question the way he teaches, sometimes he doesn't even show up to class at all — being a freelance writer and everything."

Lastly, uplifting from her solemn expressions for the freelancer, she added "Well, Good Luck with Creative Writing and room 102! We should hangout sometime!" smiled, and walked away with her skirt dangling up and down. 

 _I'm so done with cheerleaders,_ I thought.

 

 


	2. The First Classroom Quarrel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael has yet to find out who his Creative Writing teacher is. When he does, however, enters a shock of disappointment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I know this took some time to make and I'm not even sure if anyone will view this story. Regardless, making these types a story is such thrill for me that I deeply regret stopping. Smut scenes will be shown in the next chapter.

**Cast:**

Chace Crawford as Michael Seymour/Coffee Boy

 

Tyler Hoechlin as Mr. Carrington

    

 

Cheerleaders, I thought. They were once my favourite fetish among all the fetishes that I find ridiculously endearing. They intimidatingly walk in packs and spend majority of their time to look perfect — hair must be exquisitely curled and should bounce coherently by their backs. Fats from their stomachs and thighs must migrate to their breast and buttocks. They can be charming yet indecisive when it comes to relationships. They will let you drink in their artificial words, words like "I love you too," or "You're the only one I want," and soon you'll realise that their drinks were aimed to poison your heart.

Yet, a part of me will never forget my past relationships that helped me grow into a better person. I have had sets of girls whom I mostly hated, each set differ from size, skin colour, and attitude. Although these past yet, admit-tingly still beautiful girls differ from all spectrums, one common trait that they all shared was how they have hypnotised or seduced me with their short skirts, bulging breast, and their somewhat intimidating attitude.

All of my thoughts from cheerleaders abruptly changed to the art of Creative Writing as the bell rang, signalling that it was time to move to the next period.

 _Creative Writing_ was something I always excel on. Books, papers and pens are the tools that I love to use to come up with a beautiful story. Once these tools are used, there is never a limit to how beautiful your out come can be but your own imagination. The key to writing is to know what your own mind wants to write about and to picture your own interest and desires and turn them into words. 

However, once I got to the classroom I knew instantly that it wouldn't be my own imagination that will depend on my story, but a consensus among groups. The classroom's tables and chairs weren't arranged in traditional rows and columns, but were four grouped tables. Four big tables in each corner that were made up out of smaller tables per each student.

  _This is what sucks about being a late-enrolled new student,_ I thought.  _Students already have their own groups of friends that it is only up to you to either make a good or bad impression that would last a life time._

It turned out that I didn't even need to make such an impression because standing behind me, with a dominating and aggressive aura, was the person whom I spilled coffee to.

He looked at me with eyes mixed hawkishness and caution — as if I am yet to spill another cup of coffee on his perfectly upscaled outfit.

"You're in the wrong class." He stated with so much assertiveness.

_Just my luck. He is a teacher._

"What? No, my class schedule says —."

"So if it says, then you are late." 

 _"_ But you just came in!" I defended and tried to copy his aggressive behaviour.

"You just came in, _Sir" he repeated._

"What the hell?" I said, surprised. 

Obviously, I was the first student to turn a blind eye on this teacher's demands of respect as all of the students that were once in their own world were now starring at the both of us with intense interest.

"You listen to me," he slowly started walking closer to me and talking with a quiet yet stern voice that only two of us can hear."Either you learn to treat me with respect or you leave this classroom. Leave to a horrible future that I promise you, will be because of me."

I was shock at everything. Shock at how this teacher can have so much power that he didn't even sound like he was bluffing. Shock that he can talk to a student like this. Shock that regardless of how horrid his sentences are, he still talked in elegance.

"Now!" he said in a louder and playful tone as soon as he established his dominance. A tone that will make you miss his previous threats and presumptuousness. "You need to be grouped; who here can adapt Coffee boy?"

_Coffee boy, again? Seriously?_

"We'll take him!" Said a random blond dude who is obviously a jock.

"Not-so-fast, Ken the Doll."  

"I think it is better if he goes with the 'nerd table,' yeah?" He insulted with a smile.

I clenched my jaw of suppressed anger. It wasn't that hard to find the 'nerd table' as he dubbed it. There, at the big table at the front right corner, were students who all wore glasses and braces that didn't suite their appearances. Don't get me wrong, there were other students who wore braces and/or glasses that were out of this particular group, but this, as soon as I sat down and realise, were a bunch of people whom annoyed him the most, the ones that if he were given a chance to, would get rid of.

"Let's start, shall we?"

As soon as he said those words, the environment rapidly turned from harsh to attentiveness.

The students didn't need to be told twice to gather their learning materials as the teacher —whom I have yet to learn his name; without explaining, wrote prolonged and excessive instructions on 'how to write' that filled the whole board.

_This is not how you learn to Creative Write. Shouldn't writing be a practical exercise?_

 

Halfway through the silent double period of jotting down pointless notes, I found myself needing to use the restroom. Obviously, from the looks of it, there were students in not only my table, but also around the classroom squirming at their seats from holding their bladder. I debated whether or not I should raise my hand for his attention. Then, my bladder getting the best of me, I rose my hand.

"Excuse me." I said after a minute or so as he pretended not to have seen my hand.

Then, without any further reply from him, I spoke in my clearest and sarcastic voice, "Excuse me, _sir"_

"Oh how kind of you to raise your hand." he said acidly

"How kind of you to question me when you haven't turned your back since the beginning of the class." I shot back.

Obviously, this was a mistake with all of the surprise reactions from the class.

"Tell me, Mr. Seymour, what do _you_ want?" he said both hands on my table that made us inches close _._

_Had my ears betrayed or did he just call me out with my real name?_

"I need to use the bathroom."

"As do I Coffee boy, as do I"  I can see, with him being so close to me, a shiny metal  piece that had caught my eye. 

_Mr.  Carrington, said the name tag attached to his breast._

_So Mr. Carrington thinks he owns this school,_ I thought. _I'll show him._

"Yes. But I, unlike you, have the future of being something other than a comical job as a teacher, and therefore have certain responsibilities to at least take care of himself."

I knew this wasn't true. This guy, by the way he dresses, probably can buy out the whole school. Maybe even all the schools in the state. 

Regardless, the classroom was a mix of shock and excitement from the rare sight of a student battling his teacher. 

"You think you can just —."

But I was on a roll now; it was _my_ turn to interrupt him.

"You can't even teach! You think you can just write a bunch of random words on the board and except us to learn how to write from it?" I continued

Expecting great consequences from talking harshly, to my surprise, Mr. Carrington took a deep breath as if trying to keep his cool, then said:

"You are in _my_  classroom and therefore must play by _my_ rules _._  We will continue this discussion _privately._  For now, you will leave this room right this moment!"

"Fine!" I quickly stood up and left the room.

I was so mad. Mad about how he can get a way with his dictatorship. Mad at how my once favourite subject and career are now ruined. Mad at myself for regretting that I ever said anything that caused all of this.

 With 15 minutes left remaining, I had nothing else to do but head towards lunch break.

 

 


	3. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taco bell leads to deep consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daddy Blake Carrington. You can't rush the smut, sorry.

Lunch break is officially the one and only period I will ever excel at this school, I thought. 

With dozens of grey fossil coloured tables that almost filled in the whole cafeteria's width, I sat alone on a fading colour of a hard red stooled type of chair. 

Great, now I'm officially a loner.

A loner with nothing to eat for lunch. I added as I looked bitterly at my bitten greasy pizza on a tray that tasted like cardboard. Will it kill this school to have one thing functional?

With my thoughts still wandering about school, Mr. Carrington, and this disgrace of a pizza, I was electrified to feel someone tap his/her finger from behind me.

"Don't be scared, silly. It's me."

"Oh yeah. Hi — Emily, was it?" I tried to make it sound like I didn't remember her name just to falsely let her know that it didn't really mean much that we've met. A classic playboy move.

"And your name is Mark, was it?" she said playfully as she sat beside me.

"Well, close enough." I laughed. I couldn't explain how her presence made me happy. After all that mayhem in Creative Writing class, I was glad to talk to someone — to talk to her.

"So... tell me." She started with a mischievous grin that popped out her cheek bones as she guided her left hand to support her chin.

"Tell you what?"

"You know what."

"How bad this pizza is? Because I've never eaten flavoured cardboard before."

"Not that!" she responded exasperatedly, "Although, the school's food is really inedible."

"Then what?"

"You and — well, Mr. Carrington."

"Oh," I started preparing myself. "He and I, we don't see eye to eye on things."

"That's one way to put it." Emily said as-a-matter-of-factly.

"He abused his power of being a teacher and I didn't like it. So I — wait," I gathered my thoughts, "How did you hear about this?"

It has only been about 20 minutes since the classroom brawl. There was no way Emily could have heard about it, her not being there and all.

"Rumour spreads fast, my friend. Especially rumours relating to Mr. Carrington."

"Great." I said sarcastically.

I am not only a loner with no food for lunch, but also a person who gets roasted by his teacher.

"There were many versions of the story," Emily continued.

It's been about 20 minutes and she had heard multiple versions? This school is like Gossip Girl.

"But, I would really like to know which is the real." She looked at me pleadingly that made dinky wrinkles surround her eyes.

Who am I to refuse a request from a cheerleader? So, I told her what happened. Everything from how I spilled coffee on his expensive suite, from how he desperately wanted me to be in "the wrong class," and finally, our quarrel in the classroom. Emily was a good listener, she didn't interrupt nor distract me. Her reactions weren't faked but were genuine.

"I mean, what kind of writing teacher gives lessons without explaining them?"

I was rudely interrupted, for the fifth time this day as someone abruptly sat across of me.

"Babe!" Emily said.

Babe? I questioned sourly in my head.

"Hey babe. I missed you," He then reached out to Emily and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Suddenly my featureless Pizza looked appetising.

"and hey, Coffee Boy." He greeted cooly.

"How are you, Ken the Doll?" I remembered.

As we were faced to face, 'Ken the Doll' and I opposed each other in every possible way. Sure, I had seen him once in the Classroom, finding out that he was a jock in a football jersey. However, the similarity ends there. He had an undercut look with bleached and highlighted shades of blond. His blond hair made waves from front to back on the top of his head. Hair that was probably done and faked from a salon. His eyes were a sparking colour of baby blue that gave emphasis on his knife like jaw and his eggnog coloured tan that only reached up to his neck.

He, without the make up and plastic parts; is no doubt, a walking figure of Ken.

Does that make Emily his Barbie? I cringed.

"Call me Andrew. Or 'Drew if you like."

Summoning all my strength to at least give a decent reply, I said, "My name is Mike."

"Of course you are! You've got guts for talking to Carrington like that. I mean, how were you not scared when you fought with him to use the restroom? Hell, I'm scared myself when I show up late to class much more ask for a break." He expressed so much admiration that it was hard to hate him.

"Um, thanks." I tried saying with my littlest gratitude and a half smile. Then, "So you were the one who told Emily?" I looked into his soulful diamond eyes.

"I tell her everything, right babe?" He said while playing footsies with her.

Before I had the time to process how disgusted and awkward I felt, another student wearing a green tank top that said something like: 'Basketball is my girlfriend' joined and sat on our table.

"Andrew my boy! What's good?" He blurred out. His voice was as loud as a neighing horse but there was a pinch of coolness of an accent to it. It was like he wasn't forcing his voice for any attention at all, it just came naturally.

"Not much man, just discussing about the Carrington incident." He replied.

Emily looked at me sheepishly as if trying to say, 'I'm sorry about them'

"Yeah man, I heard about that," then, turning to me, he said, "Homie, you got some balls. My name be Terrence,"

Terrence, whom I further learned about was an African-American 18 year old who grew up in the streets of New Orleans. His hazelnut skin colour spreads all around his body like a chocolate pool. His tattoos (which he hides terribly), facial hair, braids, and eye colour are a close shade darker than his skin tone. The first thing you'd notice when you meet Terrence is not how spring-like his hair is, or how his natural rose like lips hide his pearly white teeth, but it is how he wears his lonely pierced shiny diamond earring at his left side, giving the impression that he was dangerous.

I was about to introduce myself back but Terrence said, "And I know who you are! You're that guy who fought with that teach —."

"I have an idea!" Emily started abruptly, "Let's talk about something other than this teacher, please."

I was really glad for this. I've been in this school for a handful of hours and all that people seem to talk about is the person whom I splashed coffee to.

I looked at my now stoned cold pizza and said, "Yeah, like how this school needs to stop subtly giving students food poison"

"Tell me about it, man. Last week I tried some of that Chinese Siomai shit and I'm not gonna lie, it tasted like rocks." Said Terrence.

I laughed. Maybe these people aren't so bad after all

"I know!" Said Andrew as he unanticipatedly stood up,"Let's get some Taco Bell, yeah? It's just around the block."

"But we got about 10 minutes left of break time!" Replied a responsible Emily.

"All the more we should do it, babe! My next period is Trigonometry and I haven't done my useless shit of a homework."

"I think we should do it," I claimed as I stood up with Andrew. As soon as I heard Taco Bell my heart rose up. Fast-food was something I try avoiding but can't;I am always seen eating a fatty fast food meal once or twice a week (though, I workout). One fast food that I could never have, though, was Taco Bell. Taco Bell was never available in my old state and thus, never had tried it. It is time to release my virginity from Taco Bell.

"Eating food that's not made out of rocks? Count me in!" said Terrence enthusiastically, "C'mon, Emily, it's just once in a blue moon."

"We literally do this three times a week," she pointed out and looked in such a worrisome state that if not for my growling stomach, I'd feel bad for agreeing with her boyfriend.

Does she really care about her classes? A responsible blonde cheerleader? This was a shocker.

"All the more we should do it, babe. It's' tradition."

"Well, maybe for awhi—."

"Great! I'll drive. Let's go homies." Said Terrence as he steadfastly walked out of the cafeteria to start his car.

Terrence, with my admiration, drove a platinum A-Class Mecedez Benz. Apart from the silvery body colour of the vehicle, everything from heavy tires, dinted windshields, comfortable leather seats, and other parts of the car were a classy colour of jet black.

I was shocked at how exquisite this car was. I normally go for old cars such as Mustangs, but this car exclusively had both the yin and yang colours and somehow made a coherent combination.

I was even more shocked when my new found friends hopped into the car as if its was an ordinary vehicle.

"Cool car, dude." I expressed

"Ah this? I've been wanting to get rid of it. Got it for my 18th birthday even if I specifically asked for a Lambo."

"Shut up and drive, Terrence." Said Andrew.

I asked my mom to get me a dog for Christmas, once. She just laughed. I thought in my shotgunned seat as Terrence drove to Taco Bell. Ken and Barbie were both sitting at the back just to be, "Together" and "Never separated."

 

We chose to dine in at Taco Bell. Taco Bell, no doubt, had the best looking Tacos I've ever seen. Merely staring at the variations of food choices (not all were Tacos) made you gassy and want to go straight to the bathroom. The menu had many tacos that differ from texture: soft, hard, crunchy, cheesy, barbecued, Dorito-ed (made from Doritos itself). You name it. Although there was a noisy arcade room at the back, the food, environment, and service were all amazing.

After all that lining up and diobolically waiting for our food to reach our table, the four of us feasted like kings after busily ruling his kingdom; like homeless boys (and a girl) after fasting for several months of starvation. I ordered three orange looking Dorito Tacos with saturated meat, vegetables, and cheese; and, to my astonishment, a great bitter brewed coffee.

They don't really make good coffee in restaurants these days.

Emily ordered one vegetarian Taco and water to eliminate the gassy feeling you'd get after devouring a Taco.

I had no idea how there can be a vegetarian taco in this place or how she can pick a grassy and tasteless meal out of all the choices there was to pick from.

When I asked her about this, though, she said something like:

"Cheerleaders are required to go on a special diet."

"But why now, though," I responded. Then, I said, "You're in a perfect —."

Blessed my smart thinking as I was about to say 'perfect shape',

"You're in a perfect place to eat without anyone noticing that you've broken your diet." I anxiously looked at Andrew for any signs of acknowledgement. Thankfully, he was still busy devouring his food.

She smiled. Then, said, "Well, my weighing scale will tell the whole school that I've gained quite a few pounds."

"Hey, dudes. If ya'll are just gonna talk the whole time about weight gain, then I hope ya'll won't be surprise if your food were eaten — by me." Said Terrence.

Everyone, including myself, laughed.

Terrence and Andrew both shared about eight deluxe and upgraded Tacos together. Aside from Tacos, they both shared their additional order of Nachos Supreme — which is just like Tacos but Nacho versioned, four wraps that I have no idea what flavour, due to the wrap concealing its meat fittingly. One thing they didn't share, however, were their drinks. Terrence had a large sprite, while Andrew had diet coke.

Like Diet coke will change how fattening his meal is, I thought

"So, tell us, Mike, where did you come from and why did you choose this school."

There's really not much to say. I mean, I always hopped around from school to school because of my asshole figure whom I call 'dad'. His business had him travelling a lot and, and with my mom being her usual clingy and loves struck self, moved the both of us along with him. This school, however, is the first school I've ever attended with my dad finally leaving my home. I still couldn't remember that night.

Regardless, I told them everything. I told them about my dad and how he'd always dictated my life since birth. Emily, Terrence, and Drew were all interested with what I've got to say. They were listening as if I were singing a Shakespeare sonnet full of sorrows. All three of them understood and in return, told their own personal stories from where they've come from. Particularly Drew, as I learned, whose father died when he was only 3 years old.

"From then on, I wanted to have a part of him within me," he explained."So I decided to copy his favourite sport, football. I'm not really as good as him because I was my own teacher, but playing in the field reminds me of him; which I can't remember much about these days."

I felt so sorry for him. As soon as he finished those sentences, I made a deal with my self to stop hating him.

"Homies, I hate to interrupt with the feelings and all," Terrence looked at Drew with a mix of bewildered and sad expression, as if he had not known his best friend's suffering all this time, "but we gotta head back to school, yeah dig? They be checkin' attendance in the end of the last period."

Before we got to school, however, we all decided to make a quick detour to the noisy and bright Arcade behind the restaurant. Terrence and Drew decided to play some competitive 1 on 1 basketball, while Emily and I chose to play an antiquated game called Pacman. Not that I don't enjoy playing basketball with the guys and all, but there was only the littlest space for an Arcade at this restaurant that there were only two basketball stations.

"The yellow Pac-Man dude is me," I started joking, trying to unveil the awkward silence, "I can literally eat anything."

She laughed at my smooth joke.

Then, once her yellow figure Pac-Man dude died from being eaten, she started talking in a way that made me nervous.

"Listen," she started.

Listen? I copied in my head with anxiety.

"I really admire the way you talked to the guys up there. Most people couldn't catch up with them, but you talked as if you were one of them; as if you were already part of the group since birth."

"Yeah, well, when you moved schools frequently, you get to learn how to make friends fast."

"Also, the way you opened up about your dad. Thank you for sharing that with us." She said slowly while biting her now pink lips.

"Thank you for listening." I replied, copying her movement and bit my bottom lip.

She hesitated before bringing her right hand on my upper arm as if to tenderly say what words can't express anymore. I knew this was wrong, Drew was literally behind us, but I couldn't bring myself to escape her soothing touch without hurting her feelings.

I thought of the most stupid and obvious excuse:

"Let me play some Pac-Man and see if I can beat your score."

 

The car ride on the way to school was almost silent. The four of us were all bloated (even Emily) and had too much fun at the Arcade that it was sad to think that we were about to go back to school. Terrence was mad at Drew for cheating his way at their ball game.

"You can't just cheat to win man, nothing comes that easy."

"Well, I'm still pissed that they don't have a football station in the Arcade. Then, I can beat your ass without cheating."

"It's an arcade from a fast food, man. You expect way too much." Bellowed Terrence. His eyebrows stuck together while driving. Either he was mad or concentrating on the traffic ahead.

I decided to break the silence and talk about something else than Arcades.

"Hey!" I called as everyone looked at me with shock. That definitely caught their attention.

"You both are from sports teams, right?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Do you think I should join the varsity team?" I asked, surprising even myself. My mom wouldn't like this. I guess in some unconscious level, I wanted be like these two jocks. I wanted to be part of their group more than ever.

"Sure man, which one?" Terrence asked still eyes glued on the road.

"Well, either football or soccer."

"I think it's great if you'd join, team needs an extra," Drew said. Then, with his eyes skirting over Terrence, "just don't join the basketball team, their league sucks."

"Hey man, stop right there. You don't know jackshit —."

"I can even talk to the coach to help you get in." Drew proudly said, as if he were an important player of a team, important enough to tell the coach what to do.

"Thanks, but I want to see if I'm good enough to join in." I said.

Minutes of awkward silence passed since I've said those words. I hate awkward silence, yet, I can't do anything about this. This was not my problem nor was it my place to tell these dudes to man up and stop fighting over a fucking basketball game. I decided to stare at the familiar evergreens leading the way to our school.

As Terrence pulled over at the school's parking lot, the bell rang signalling that it was 3:00, and classes were now over. Emily and Drew were the first ones to get out while I was still gathering my thoughts.

"You coming, brother?" Asked Terrence as he was just hopping out of the car.

"Hey, man, can I make a quick phone call, for a bit? I asked and before he could even respond at how weird my question was, "I just gotta talk to my mom privately and not, well, openly."

The truth is, I didn't want anyone to see my facial expressions as I made the phone call.

"All right, suit yourself, man. Just let me know when you finish." He closed the door and walked towards the gates of school.

As soon as he was out of earshot, I dialled the phone number of my mom's. 

I didn't know whether if I wanted her to pick up or not.

After about 5 rings, and a possibility of leading to voicemail, she finally picked up.

"Honey?" She asked in her sweetest concerned tone as if I'm in danger. 

"Only call me at work if it's important," she had said before.

"Hi mother dearest." I said gathering my thoughts. Then, as fast as I can, "Can-I-join-the-football-team?" 

"I'm sorry, honey. You need to slow down I'm at work and I can't hear you well."

"I know we've talked about it before, but," I silently prayed to find the right words. "I know you understand what's best for me and all, but can I please join the football team?"

There was a long silence.

"We have already agreed to no sports, Mike. It's a bad influence on you." I can almost see her biting her own lips in agitation from letting me down. "We can't repeat what you've done in previous schools."

"I know but this time it's different, mom." 

"I don't know and I've got to get back from work —. "

"This time I got friends who will guide me."

"Give me one more chance." I added while trying not to throw a tantrum. 

"If your friends are good as you say they are, then I'd like to meet them first. But I really am not sure yet hun—."

"Then that's all I need, mom —a chance."

"Well, I guess you can call it a cha - ."

"It is, mom." I smiled even though I know she can't see it.

"We'll talk about it face to face, but right now I got to work," "I love you, Mike." She said cautiously as if I'll hate her for what she has about to say.

"See you, mom." I said with all my gratitude before she ended the call. 

I smiled knowing that I at least have a chance of joining a team. To be part of something again. Once I've realised and got over the shock of my mom taking chances, I exhaled. Loudly while still smiling.

Suddenly, with hope still showering my mind, I didn't notice how near the car parked beside me was. Without giving any observation, I heavily opened the right side door of Terrence's car.

A loud sound abruptly caught my attention. It was the sort of sound you'd get when mixing shattering glasses and bumping solid objects.

Followed by that certain sound, were voices all around of shocked and terror. I didn't understand how, but there was one audible voice really caught my ears.

"What the fucking hell?" Someone shouted.

I know that voice, I thought as the hair on my back stood up.

I had no time to process whomever owned that voice because as I stood up and looked down, the hope that used to be inside my stomach gave a deep clench as it was now replaced with shock. Underneath me indeed, were shattering glasses of two different cars as one's side door dented itself to the other door. 

I tried swallowing the lump in my throat and the anxiety from the watching crowd that stared blankly at me, then, I saw him.

Walking steadfastly towards his now broken car with polished boots and a faded coffee stained jacket, was no other than my Creative Writing teacher, Mr. Carrington. 

"Oh, here comes Satan." Said a frightened boyish voice from the crowd.

"Mr Carrington —." I tried finding for the best words to apologise.

"You've done it now, Seymour!" Mr. Carrington stood and towered in front of me with his eyes burning in fury. His body and literally all the other parts were tensed up as if trying very hard not to attempt to a physically brawl. I stuttered in effort of speaking up for myself.

"I didn't — It was an accident." I didn't know what happened. Usually, when I get into trouble, I'd make up some lame excuse or confidently fight back. But this time, it was as if a newer emotion grew all over me; and it wasn't hope or bewilderment, it was fear.

Fear of him and I had no idea why.

"Are you Serious?" He gave a roaring expression as both hands formed to a ball of fist. "I can't believe you. It's been less than 24 hours of you coming into my school and you've already caused mass destruction!" He yelled so hard that it made a few of the Freshmen cry.

Thankfully, with all the uproar this teacher was giving, Emily, Terrence, and Andrew came into the scene followed by the Principal of the school, whom I later learned was named Mr. Dickson.

Before any of these new comers could say a word, I mouthed a "Sorry" to Terrence for wrecking his vehicle which he gave back an understanding expression.

"What in the world is going on here?" Dickson asked astonished.

"This—This stupid—Incompetent—Childish—Clumsy—Incapable—Useless—Son of a —."

"Blake! That is not how you discipline a student." Interrupted Dickson.

His name is Blake? I tried hard not to laugh as giving him a proper name would mean he is human.

"Discipline him? We all do respect, Thomas, but this boy is beyond discipline."

I can see how, in Dickson's facial expressions, how frightened he gets of Carringotn, regardless if he was in a higher position.

Thankfully, he looked around and noticed that the crowd's interest, including my friend's, were exponentially increasing as for once, not even at assemblies, they were all quiet.

"I think we should discuss this matter privately." He looked between me and Carrington. Then, he said, "The both of you and whoever owns the other car right there."

I quickly looked at Terrence and before he could speak, I said: 

"I—uh—own the car, sir." I gulped. I hate lying over materialistic things.

"Oh really, now?" Said Carrington as he looked at me from up to down like he was questioning if I am even wroth this car.

"Then tell me, Coffee Boy, what were you doing at the front passenger's seat?"

He said it so calmly that I doubt Dickson, my friends, or the background spectators heard him.

"I needed to adjust the seats, sir." 

Sir? What is wrong with me? 

Before this teacher could point out my obvious lie, the principal told everyone to leave with his 'principal' voice and told Carrington and I to follow.

"I don't have time for this." Complained Carrington.

This is probably the worst day among all the worst days I had. I thought as the three of us made our way toward the spacious and marble tiled Principal's office. Once I had entered, I looked around dumbfounded to see series of collections of cars, airplanes, and action figures all in colourful display in the office. There were only three wooden chairs and tables. Two chairs facing one side of the table and the other yet taller chair, facing the other.

I sat on the wooden yet surprisingly comfortable chair while Dickson sat on the opposite side. Carrington however, didn't feel like sitting as he was still boiled up with anger.

With arms folded on his chest, he broke the awkward silence. 

"This is hopeless. This boy has been out to get me since morning! First the spilling coffee, the answering back in the classroom, and now my car. I recommend expulsi—"

"It's not like I do it on purpose!" I said,"It was an accident! I didn't see your car!"

"There you go again with that 'not paying attention excuse'. It seems like not paying attention will be the death of you."

I stood up now my head boiling with anger. Fuck my fear he has no right to insult me like that.

"Gentlemen!" shouted Dickson exasperatedly."Please, let's settle this like mature adults." 

After we both calmed down, (but neither of us were sitting) he started talking slowly.

"Now, it seems to me here that Michael didn't damage you car on purpose, Blake. We can't just expel him with one incident."

"Mr. Dickson! This boy made it very clear that he his asking for trouble. I demand immediate expulsion."

"Nevertheless, he hasn't done anything that adds up to expulsion. It's in the handbook if you might want to read it."

Mr. Carrington shot icy daggers on me.

"However, we can't have Michael just wandering around without any consequences."

"Yes, finally! Thank You."

"In order to pay the fine for your broken window, Mr. Carrington, there must be a community service in place. How much did you say it cost?"

"I didn't, It's $800.00." I gasped so hard that it was impossible to breathe.

"All right, to be adequate, how about 5 months worth of detention —"

"That's punishing me! I'm the one who'll have to be with him!"

"You didn't let me finish, 5 months worth of detention of doing what you want, Blake. While the school slowly pays you back."

He seemed to be carefully thinking this through as the silence in this room continued for about a minute.

"Do we have a deal?" Thomas the Dickhead asked.

"Oh," Carrington said mischievously as he looked at me. "We have a deal."

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first original story and with a handful of audience, I hope it will be good enough to encourage my to write more chapters. Please leave remarks, kudos, and comments for me to know more on my improvements. Thank You!


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